


breathe into me and make me real

by greeneyedstranger



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Language, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneyedstranger/pseuds/greeneyedstranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's fading away, bit by bit everyday, and all he can feel is numb. He finds Louis, who's like sunshine, bright and glowing, and smells like red velvet cupcakes and whipped cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe into me and make me real

**Author's Note:**

> so i have no idea how this happened, at all, but this is my first ever larry fic and i'm massively excited :) title taken from "bring me to life" by evanescence. hope you enjoy ! tumblr is gumdroplou.tumblr.com x.

The thing is, he can’t look away.

He wants to. But he physically can’t tear his eyes away from what he sees in front of him.

Himself.

Harry’s hands shake, quick little tremors, as he peels his jumper off, slow and cautious. A ratty old thing he’d found somewhere in Nick’s closet with a big tomato sauce stain near the neckline. He lifts it up, higher and higher, urging himself to breathe. Deep breaths, c’mon, you have to. You have to do this. 

When it’s up over his head, he starts on his jeans, popping the button through its hole and tugging at the zipper, forcing himself not to look. He has to do it several times, his hands are shaking so bad. He continues his chants in his head. Breathe, breathe, come on, you know you have to, you know he’ll be angry, just do it. Don’t you cry. Don’t you dare cry.

Once he’s pushed his boxers down and steps out of them, he looks.

A strained noise of pain bubbles from his throat, and his hand flies up to his mouth. His eyes zip about frantically, taking in every detail, every line he sees in the smooth glass in front of him. He drinks in the disgusting chunky bits of fat hanging from every bone, it seems, pooling up in every nook and cranny. The creases in his thighs, the way they’re huge enough that they jiggle when he walks. When his eyes glaze over his tummy, the tears begin. His tummy is too soft, and it protrudes from the rest of his body like a balloon, and he knows Nick hates that.

Nick will hate him even more, he realizes.

Harry’s thin fingers pull at his dark curls as he squeezes his eyes shut, making the sight in front of him fade to black in an instant. He sinks to the ground, naked and bare and fat and disgusting, and rolls up into a ball, scratching furiously at himself as tears stain his skin a bright pink.

He’s trying, is the thing. He’s fucking trying. He jogs three miles every fucking morning at the crack of dawn. He’s been skipping breakfast for the last three weeks. He’s been eating healthy, picking and choosing his food carefully, nibbling on nuts and berries and gulping down a bit of milk every now and then to keep his energy up. He’s been cooking dinner for Nick, choosing the healthiest possible meals he could find on the Internet. He’d eat all of it, every last fucking bit, and then run off to the loo to puke his guts out.

And it’s not working.

None of it is working.

He’s still got chubby bits clinging to him, and he’s got thunder thighs and a disgusting swell of fat over his tummy and jiggly arms. Above all that, he’s got dark purple circles under his eyes and his hair is too long and floppy and his nose is too big for his face and he’s got these dimples that make him look like a two year old and lips so red it’s like he’s wearing lipstick. 

You’re ugly, he whispers to himself, teeth digging into his lip from where he’s curled up. You’re ugly, and you’re fat, and you don’t deserve to live. You’re fucking lucky Nick loves you. You don’t deserve him either.

He doesn’t know how long he stays on the ground. He hears the sound of a door slamming shut and his eyes pop open frantically.

He hears his name being shouted. He recognizes that tone. He knows something’s wrong.

Quickly, Harry tugs on his boxers and Nick’s jumper, springing to his feet and combing his greasy hair with his fingers, frantic. He scrubs the tears from his face. He’s only got one sock on.

His name is yelled again. Harry flies from the bedroom.

“Nick,” he says, plastering a smile onto his face. 

“What the hell is this,” Nick deadpans, flicking an accusatory finger towards the living room. The flat they share is small, with a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and two tiny bedrooms. They share a bedroom, of course. Of course. 

“Oh.” Harry looks in the direction of Nick’s finger, panic welling up inside him as he surveys the open bags of chips scattered all over the couch and messy blankets and bits of crumbs stuck to the carpet. “I’m…I’m sorry about that. It’s…um, Niall and Liam stopped by, and they…”

“How many times have I told you that your silly little friends aren’t allowed in my house?” Nick looks at Harry, and Harry takes a step back. Harry tries his best not to shake. Nick is intimidating, with his carefully styled hair and flashing eyes and growly voice. But Nick loves him. Nick loves him, and that’s it.

Harry looks at his feet.

“Every fucking time they come in here, it always ends up in a massive mess I have to clean while you lounge about,” Nick spits. “I told you. I told you, time and time again, to stop meeting them. Haven’t I?”

Harry nods.

“Look what they’ve done to you.” Nick gestures wildly to Harry. “Just look at you. You’re a right mess. You look half dead, you silly fool.”

“S’not…s’not their fault, I swear.” I’m sick, Harry wants to scream. I’m sick and something’s wrong with me and I need you. I need you to hold me and touch me and kiss my hair and cuddle with me under the blankets while we watch telly and stuff our faces and giggle with each other. I just really fucking need you.

“Look at me,” Nick commands.

Harry doesn’t.

He sees a pair of brown boots come into his vision, and there’s cold fingers on his chin, forcing his face upwards. A gasp escapes his mouth when he sees Nick is right there, looming in front of him with his jaw clenched and eyes nearly red with anger.

“You think I don’t get it? I do, Harry, I understand full well what you’re thinking.” His grip on Harry’s chin tightens. His breath smells like nicotine. “I understand that I’m out there, six days a week, slaving my bloody arse off, working to support us. Support you. And I understand that you’re nineteen and you left your family to live with me and you’re not even going to Uni for God’s sake and you feel like you have the right to lay about under my roof making a mess and having fun while I run around trying to earn enough bloody money to keep your pathetic arse alive, you absolute idiot.”

Harry’s breath hitches. He feels tears in his eyes. He hates them. 

Nick is quiet for a moment, seething and furious and dangerous and Harry knows not to speak. He’s not allowed to, when Nick is mad. He has to keep still and say nothing.

Then Nick says, “What happened to your diet, hm?”

“What,” Harry whispers.

Nick releases his hold on Harry to take a step back and survey him, running his eyes up and down his body. He tugs at Harry’s arms experimentally, poking Harry’s stomach. Harry whimpers.

“You said you were going to lose weight for me. You promised.”

“I…I am.” Harry closes his eyes.

“Then what…the hell…is this?”

He feels a sharp slap against his thigh. Harry’s eyes fly open.

“You’re soft. You’re all soft and mushy, like a little girl.”

“Nick.” Harry’s voice is not audible.

“I never asked for this. I wanted a nice, fit boyfriend that I could show around without having to feel bloody embarrassed about it, God.” Nick grounds the heels of his palms into his eyes and groans. “Really, Harry, I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know what to do with you.”

Harry’s crying. Nick doesn’t see. “Nick,” he begs.

“Go to your room, Harry,” Nick sighs. “I don’t want to see you.”

“I love you, Nick,” Harry says.

“Just fucking go, or I’ll hit you again,” Nick half-shouts. “I’ll do it, I swear I will.”

Harry goes.

-

Harry throws up in the bathroom. He keeps his fingers in his throat until all he’s spitting up is bile and acid. His eyes are burning with tears and his throat is aflame and he heaves with dry sobs because he’s curled up on the floor of his bathroom and there’s vomit on his shirt and in his hair and his boyfriend thinks he’s soft and embarrassing and he thinks to himself that he is the most pathetic person ever to exist.

-

Harry’s half asleep in his bed when he feels a warm body press up against him. He tenses and holds his breath, wrapping his arms firmly around his middle.

“Haz,” Nick slurs. His voice is liquidy and wrong. He’s drunk. “Haz, I know you’re awake…”

Harry doesn’t move as Nick wraps his legs around his.

“Y’know I didn’t mean it,” Nick sighs into Harry’s neck. “All the stuff I said. Y’know I was only messing around.”

“I know,” Harry whispers.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Nick babbles on. “Look at you, Jesus, Haz, you’re the most fucking beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Swear to fucking God, I just want…I want you.” He presses his tongue to Harry’s bare skin, lapping at it messily. “I want you more than anything ‘ve ever wanted in my whole bloody life…”

And Harry, well, it’s all Harry needs. He just needs to be wanted. 

When Nick tugs down Harry’s boxers and presses into him, soft and desperate and needy, Harry closes his eyes and just bathes in it, the moment, because he thinks maybe this is what it feels like. This is what it feels like to be happy.

-

The next morning, when Harry cracks his eyes open, the bed is cold and empty. It’s Sunday, Nick’s day off, which means the bed shouldn’t be cold and empty. But it is.

There isn’t a single note or text or anything from Nick with any sort of explanation. Harry tries not to feel sad. He hates being so dependent on one person. He hates being such a weak, sad little kid.

Harry puts on a hoodie over several layered t-shirts, since he gets cold so easily, and tosses on some baggy jeans. He slips on a beanie over his curls and drinks a glass of water for breakfast. No matter what had happened last night, he isn’t even close to forgetting what Nick had said to him.

You’re soft. You’re all soft and mushy, like a little girl.

Harry’s breath falters, and he struggles to fight the words from his mind as he steps outside into the cold. Maybe he’ll look for Nick. Maybe he’ll just wander around feeling sorry for himself.

It’s December and it’s cold, cold, cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and rattles them until they’re numb and you can’t move. No one is outside, walking out on the streets, because it’s that cold. In London, when it’s this kind of cold out, people stay inside with their telly and cup of hot tea and their families, warm and safe and loved.

But Harry is here. Harry is roaming the streets in a hoodie and jeans and a beanie, with his Converse scuffing into the sidewalk with each step he takes.

He walks by a shop selling Christmas decorations and he thinks about Christmas. It’s only in a few weeks. 

He wonders what his family will be doing, his mum and Gemma and Robin. He wonders if they’ll think of him. Maybe they won’t.

His stomach roars like a wild animal, clawing at him from the inside, gurgling and disgusting and it’s the neediest sound Harry’s ever heard. He tells it to shut up.

He looks at everything around him, covered with a faint dusting of snow, and crystallized and soft and kind of romantic looking. Harry was a romantic once. He used to love snow and how it looked when it had fallen, like a blanket of purity, and he’d dreamed of how he’d wanted his first kiss to be in the snow, with someone who looked like a fallen angel against the stark white of the world around them, and he’d imagined both of their lips and noses and cheeks to be flushed red and he’d imagined the other person’s mouth to be cold and slick and lovely against his. Kind of like snow.

His first kiss had been in some nightclub he’d forgotten the name of, and it’d been Nick, who was drunk off his arse and clingy and all sweaty palms and sticky skin. He remembered how Nick had licked into his mouth and flooded it with the sharp taste of beer and pulled at his hair a bit too hard and rasped filthily into Harry’s ear.

Harry had told himself countless times afterwards that he’d liked it, that it was perfect and fun and Nick was perfect for him. He never believes himself, but he still tries.

Harry sees Nick then. Through the window of a café.

He stops walking.

Because Nick is with someone.

Harry stares.

He sees Nick lean forward slowly as he spoke to him, some guy Harry had never seen before in his life, and he sees Nick press his lips to the back of the man’s hand. The guy laughs and Nick puckers his lips playfully at him, closing the distance between them and kissing him sloppily.

Harry doesn’t move.

Nick sees him, frozen in place near a lamppost across the street, with his eyes blown wide and hands clutching the bottom of his hoodie, knuckles white as the snow at his feet.

Harry flees into the nearest shop.

“Oof!” He hears as he proceeds to collide with someone holding something that felt very much like a stick, judging from the way it prodded sharply at Harry’s cheek when they both toppled over, crashing onto the ground roughly.

Harry is too stunned to apologize or even have the decency to help the person up. He simply scrambles to his feet and rushes somewhere to the back of the room, feeling a panic attack coming on. He curls up into a tight ball once he’s tucked into the booth he finds, talking to himself again. It’s the only way he can get himself to calm down. Breathe, breathe, it’s okay, it’s nothing, maybe you were seeing things, you know he’d never do something like that to you, it’s okay, c’mon, you’re fine, you’re fine, stop acting like a kid.

“Hello, are you alright?”

Harry stays in his ball, gritting his teeth and biting back tears as he continues to blubber. Nick loves you he would never he would never he would NEVER…

“Mate?”

There’s a soft touch on his shoulder.

Harry jolts like he’s been shot, and the person staggers back.

“Whoa! Jumpy, are we?” the boy (and Harry sees now that it’s a boy, a boy who seems a bit older than him) laughs. His laugh reminds Harry vaguely of music. It shoots through octaves smoothly, soft and melodious, like the tinkling of bells or the sweet sounds produced from a piano. 

Harry looks at him, squinting through the slits of his eyes.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re alright. We both took a bit of a fall back there, didn’t we?” A kind smile. “Nothing broken, I hope?”

Nothing. Except his heart. Harry shakes his head.

“Well, that’s a relief.” The boy claps his hands together delightedly like Harry’s said something hilarious. He’s wearing a white apron that appears to be splashed with flour and various bits of food ingredients over a cream-colored knitted jumper and black jeans that cling gently to his legs. 

Harry wonders where he is.

“Why, you’re at the one and only bakery in town,” the boy chirps, his smile growing wider and wider as Harry pathetically thumbs at the tears in his eyes. “It’s quite nice that you stumbled in here, in fact. My best mate and I were working on a fresh batch of red velvet cupcakes. They’re my specialty, y’know? Cupcakes.” The boy beams. “Care to try a sample? We just took the first batch out.”

“Lou!” someone yells.

“Shall we?” The boy holds a hand out to Harry. Harry doesn’t recognize the look in his eyes. It’s almost a bit sympathetic, like he’s upset for Harry, rather than at him, which is what Harry’s used to. Harry also realizes that the boy’s eyes are blue. Blue like the sky, or the ocean. Harry thinks about jumping into them and swimming.

Harry wordlessly takes the boy’s hand, which is small and tan and instantly swallowed up in Harry’s huge, pale paw. His hand is warm.

The boy helps Harry to his feet and releases his hand as soon as he’s up. Harry feels cold. “I’m Louis, by the way. Cupcake making extraordinaire and proud owner of this little piece of heaven.” He gestures around at the shop, which is almost empty except for a few people seated at tables, munching on freshly baked treats. “What’s your name, then?”

Harry doesn’t remember. He looks at Louis’s hair. It’s coiffed into a neat little fringe, flicking upwards gently at the side, and it’s the color of chestnut and Harry wonders if it’s soft as it looks.

Harry is too busy looking at Louis to notice a little crease form between his eyebrows as he puffs out a sigh. “Fine, I suppose I’ll get it out of you sooner or later. But now, we have some business to attend to,” Louis says with a cheeky smile. “This way, please.”

Harry trails wordlessly after Louis, thoughts of Nick pushed to the back of his mind as he follows the bouncy, blue-eyed, soft-haired boy in front of him to the counter. The whole place smells comforting, like frosting and cream and sugar and chocolate. Harry thinks of the lemon meringue pie his mum used to make every Christmas and for his birthday, each year without fail, and tries not to start bawling as he remembers he isn’t getting any this year.

There’s another boy behind the counter, also wearing an apron, and he’s got black hair and eyes the color of coffee beans. He’s poking curiously at a metal tray filled with little red cakes, wrinkling his nose in a way that Harry thinks is both funny and cute. He’s skinny, with knobby elbows and sharp collarbones and he’s dressed in all black and combat boots.

This is the kind of boy Nick would like me to be, Harry thinks, and his stomach lurches.

“Well, Zayn? What’s the verdict?” Louis inquires as he perches on one of the stools lined up next to the counter, wiggling his bum so the stool turns from side to side. Harry quietly sits next to him, and the smile Louis gives him is so bright Harry thinks he needs sunglasses to look at it, and that silly thought of his almost makes him smile. Almost. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Shut up, you prat, you know full well they’re as good as always.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Louis murmurs to Harry with a raised eyebrow. Harry nods mutely, a smile twitching at his lips. He can’t help it. Louis is so bright. 

“At last! A sign of life!” Louis cheers. “And would you look at that, you’ve got a dimple as well!” Louis reaches out and pokes gently at Harry’s dimple, where it’s nestled into his cheek, and Harry flushes with embarrassment.

Nick hates his dimples. He says they make Harry look small. _Just another stupid reminder that I’ve got a child living in my house._

“Who’s this?” Zayn asks, shooting a look at Harry, who’s sitting politely with his hands folded in his lap as Louis flails around.

“I’m Harry,” Harry says.

Louis’s jaw drops open. “Oi, so you answer him and not me? I am fully shocked, mate. Shocked.”

“I’m just that gorgeous,” Zayn sniggers. “I’ve got all the cute boys chasing after me, you see.”

Harry blushes at being called cute and finds himself saying, “Must be the cheekbones. They’re quite intimidating.”

Louis clutches at his heart like he’s been stabbed. “Compliments! I spoke to him first and Zayn’s getting the compliments!”

“So I’ve been told.” Zayn answers Harry, pointing at him. “Louis, we’re keeping this one. I like him.”

“You say that about everyone who comments on your impeccable facial structure,” Louis sneers. “Silly twat, you are.”

Zayn and Louis banter while they work on icing the cupcakes and putting another batch in to bake, and Harry swings his legs freely and watches them with a smile fixed on his red lips. They remind him of Liam and Niall and him, the way they were the best of friends in school, back when he was in Cheshire, and now they’re both at Uni and only manage to visit once a week, if less. And he’s in London, in a small flat with Nick, who thinks he’s soft and pushes him around and also loves him.  
Harry decides he likes Louis a lot, and he likes looking at him. Nothing is boring about Louis – the things he says, the way he fights with Zayn, even the way he moves, flitting around like a little bird. Harry loves when customers come in and Louis talks to them, his smile welcoming and warm like mittens and scarves in winter, and he doesn’t look like he hates his job or like he’d rather be anywhere else, like the majority of the working force in London. He’s happy here, and his face is constantly tinted pink with the joy he feels from baking and talking to people and boxing pastries for them to take home to their families. He doesn’t sit still, Harry notices; always skipping around, singing along with whatever disastrous pop song is playing on the radio, and if he isn’t baking, he’s cleaning, sweeping the floor with a broom, the very one that had made an angry welt on Harry’s cheek after he’d collided into it, or wiping the counters until they sparkled and Harry could see his reflection in them. 

Louis offers Harry a red velvet cupcake, and Harry’s stomach nearly shrieks with craving, but his throat closes up with an angry burn, and his mind screams at him. No, no, no don’t you dare, don’t even think about it, no. So Harry politely declines, feeling guilty about it, but he nearly sags with relief when Louis shrugs and pops it into his own mouth, declaring “You’re missing out, mate!” through a mouth full of cake and Harry laughs till he nearly cries.

“So, Harry,” Louis says at one point, when the sun has started to set outside and the flow of customers is lessening gradually. “You planning on taking anything home? We’ve got more than just cupcakes, y’know. Maybe something for your family? 

Harry’s throat constricts as he thinks about family, but he manages to reply, “No, thank you. I haven’t got any money.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he takes off his apron and folds it neatly, placing it on the counter near Harry. “I’m insulted that you think I’m asking for your money, silly lad. Go on, pick anything. It’s on me, okay?”

Harry thinks it over, unsure.

“Or it could be on Zayn. Either way works.”

“Shut up!” Zayn yells from the kitchen. Harry titters into his palm.

“Okay,” Harry says. He looks through the glass display case. “Have you got…er, pumpkin muffins?”

“Sure we do.” Louis shuffles over to where they are, grabbing a yellow box and flipping it open. “You like them? We barely get any orders for them.”

“Oh, no. Not me. It’s…” Harry clears his throat. He doesn’t know if he should tell. He decides why not. This was Louis, not some stranger. “My boyfriend, um. He quite likes them. We haven’t been able to find any in town, so I thought…” his voice trails off. He isn’t sure why.

Louis’s jaw is hanging open. “Boyfriend, huh? Harry Styles, I never would’ve guessed!” He gives Harry a poke to the cheek, right on his dimple, which seems to be his favorite part of Harry. “Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised. Fit blokes like you aren’t supposed to roam the streets single and available, are they?”

Harry thinks of Nick kissing that man in the café across the street and wants to throw up all over himself.

Louis, mercifully, is still talking and hasn’t noticed Harry’s face fall. “Alas, I am still a lonely soul, as attractive as I obviously am. I’ve been chasing after Zayn for the last few decades or say, but the twat still remains straight as a ruler, much to my dismay. It’s disappointing, really.” 

Harry wrinkles his nose in confusion. “You and Zayn?”

“Really, Lou, shut up,” Zayn says with a scowl as he emerges from the kitchen, covered in flour. He removes his apron and chucks it at Louis, who catches it with a giggle. “He’s out of his bloody mind. You see, our Louis here is quite the tiger, constantly on the hunt for young blood.”

“Rawr,” Louis adds supportively. Harry chokes with laughter.

“He picks ‘em up left and right, be they male or female,” Zayn narrates darkly. “So you’d best be on your guard.”

“No worries,” Louis says, waving his hand. “Harry’s got a boyfriend.”

“Oi!” Zayn gasps. “No way.”

Harry melts under their heavy gazes. “A boyfriend who will be very disappointed if I’m not home by the time he is, so I think I’d better go,” he says, smiling sheepishly. Disappointed was an understatement. 

Zayn whistles cheekily and Louis laughs as he hands Harry the box of pumpkin muffins. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” Louis asks, his voice soft for the first time all day. His eyes are hopeful, and Zayn nods quickly.

“Of course.” Harry isn’t lying. He knows he’ll be back. “Um…could I possibly come tomorrow?”

“Please do,” Zayn begs. “I couldn’t bear spending all day with this maniac by myself.”

“Hey!” Louis protests loudly.

“I’ll help keep you sane.” Harry is surprised at how easily the jokes are coming, how he isn’t even trying to force a smile. It’s natural, like he’s been doing this all his life. Like this is normal for him.

“I’ll pay you. Don’t think I’m lying, I seriously will.”

“Have you quite finished?” Louis asks snarkily, and Zayn winks. “Harry, toss me your phone.”

Louis taps into Harry’s phone for a bit and then hands it back. “Alright, off you go, then.”

“See you tomorrow,” Harry calls as he walks towards the door, looking over his shoulder at Louis and Zayn, who are peering back.

“Tomorrow for sure,” Louis answers, and he waves until Harry is out the door, swallowed by the dark.

Harry’s cheeks hurt from all the smiling. He still is as he walks home.

-

When Harry opens the door to the flat, it’s pitch dark, like the current’s gone out. He squints through the blackness, fumbling for the light switch on the wall as he holds the box of muffins in his other hand.

“Harry.” The voice is low.

No, Harry thinks.

Nick is here. Nick’s been here for God knows how long. He’s been here all by himself all this time in the dark. Waiting.

“Harry, switch on the light.”

Harry’s fingers shake as he searches the wall blindly for the switch, flicking it upwards when he finds it.  
Nick’s right there, almost two feet in front of him, and Harry jumps in surprise. Nick is looking at him, and something isn’t right. Harry can feel it.

“Would you like to tell me where you’ve been for the last four hours?” Nick says softly. He hasn’t shaved and his eyes are too bright, almost frantic-looking, like he’s gone insane.

“I.” Harry chokes on his words.

“You?” Nick takes a step forward.

And Harry knows this isn’t how it’s supposed to be at all. He isn’t supposed to feel a wave of utter terror crash into him at that small step Nick takes. That’s not how it should be. 

“You were spying on me, weren’t you?” Nick spits. “This morning, I saw you. I saw you right there, just staring at me.”

Harry chokes again.

“And whatever made you think you have the right to interfere in my life whenever you bloody want?” Nick suddenly shouts, and Harry closes his eyes abruptly, willing for it all to stop. 

There’s a rustle of movement, and then there’s the familiar sharp slice of a palm colliding against the side of his face, forcing his eyes open as he groans helplessly in pain.

“Look at me, you little shit,” Nick seethes. “I want you to look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Harry looks.

Nick grabs Harry’s jaw, his hands too rough and angry. “You are not allowed to leave this house whenever you feel like it, do you understand? And you are not allowed to run around fucking spying on me…”

“Who was he?” Harry’s voice comes out ten times quieter than he’d originally planned. “Who w-was that guy?”

“God!” Nick yells as he shoves Harry, slamming him up against the wall. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you trying to demand things of me, like you’re actually important enough to do that?”

“Who was he,” is all Harry splutters.

Harry feels more pain, and he’s too dizzy to think about what Nick had done to him. All he can do is feel it. “You want to know? You want to know who I was snogging today, right in front of your fucking face?” Nick’s voice is hot against his ear. “That was my boss. I was trying to get him to give me a raise, or a promotion, or something like that. Because he’s a sleazy son of a bitch and that’s the kind of stuff he likes. You get it? Not some kind of cheap hookup. It was my boss.”

Harry nods. Because that’s what he does when Nick is saying something. He nods and nods and nods and that’s it.

Nick’s fingers catch some of the tears unwillingly dribbling down Harry’s face. “Jesus. Jesus, look at you. You’re literally a fucking kid. Look at you, fucking crying because you thought I was cheating on you. I don’t like any of this blubbery baby shit, Styles. Grow some fucking balls and stop crying for every damn thing.”

This only makes Harry cry more. He sobs quietly, hiccupping as tears leave wet, salty trails down his skin.  
Nick hits him again, and this time it hurts, much more than usual, and before he knows what’s happening, Nick’s shoving him to the ground so he’s on his knees in front of him. The box of muffins tumbles out of his grip. “You want to cry?” Nick asks filthily as he unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. “I’ll give you something to cry about. Go on.”

Harry stays still where he’s pressed against the wall as Nick fucks his face, fast and angry. When he comes down Harry’s throat in hot spurts and Harry takes all of it, obedient as he always is, Harry fleetingly thinks of a boy with blue eyes and soft hair and spots of flour all over his face. He wonders if he’s happy wherever he is, maybe tucked in bed with his headphones in, warm and safe.

He hopes he’s smiling.

-

Harry’s phone beeps sometime in the middle of the night. Harry’s wide awake, of course, and Nick is wrapped up against him, snoring into his hair. Curiously, Harry reaches for it. His face is dry from crying and his throat hurts from puking just before bed.

hi haaarrryyyyy ! it’s lou :-) just wishing you a quick goodnight! Hope your man liked the muffins ;) xx

Harry thinks of the muffins, cold and hard, sitting in the waste bin in his kitchen under the sink, and quickly powers his phone off.

-

“Harry!” 

Harry smiles as he shuts the door behind him, walking into the bright bakery, its warmth wrapping Harry up like a giant hug. “Hi, Lou.”

“You’re in early, aren’t you?” Louis bounces towards him, wearing a black hoodie over grey sweats and TOMS, the ends of his hair stained dark with water from what Harry assumed was his morning shower. His infectious smile makes Harry’s heart want to burst. His teeth are blindingly white in contrast to his tanned, flawless skin, which Harry is jealous of. Louis is almost painfully attractive, with his soft curves and toned thighs and hard, wiry biceps. Then there’s Harry, who’s pale as a ghost with bits of fat hanging all over him. Harry is almost embarrassed to stand near Louis, who is all shiny and wonderful and Harry’s just there. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, settling onto one of the stools. Louis hops up next to him. “My…uh…boyfriend left early and I didn’t want to hang around home all day.” This isn’t a lie.

Louis’s perfectly rounded eyebrows dance up and down. “Speaking of the lucky bastard, how did he like your oh-so-thoughtful little gift?

Harry smiles tightly. “He loved it. Thank you for that, by the way.” 

Louis claps happily, just like he had the day before. “Cheers!”

They sit together in contented silence, the bakery quiet except for the hum of the oven in the kitchen. It was barely time to open shop yet, and Zayn wasn’t here either. 

“Harry,” Louis says.

“Hmm?”

“Just…don’t be angry, yeah?” Louis gives him a sidelong look. “But, uh…why were you crying yesterday?”

Harry sighs. He doesn’t want to do this. Make up lies and excuses to yet another person.

“You really don’t have to talk about it, promise. I won’t mind.” The wide-eyed, curious way Louis is staring at him suggests otherwise.

Harry sighs again. “I’ll tell you some other time, maybe?”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, sounds cool. It’s just, well, wow. You were literally, wow, I don’t know how to describe it. I thought you were running from a murderer, the way you zipped in here and barreled me over.”

Harry has to laugh. “M’sorry about that, too.”

“Stop apologizing and thanking me for everything. Haven’t you a single mean bone in that skinny little body of yours?” Louis raps his knuckles against Harry’s thigh for emphasis.

Harry tenses at the word skinny. “Don’t say that.” The words are out before he can think them.

“Huh? Don’t say what?”

Don’t you say anything. Don’t say a single fucking word to him. 

“Skinny,” Harry croaks.

“Don’t say that you’re skinny? Why?”

Harry shakes his head fiercely as he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting off a panic attack for the second time in two days. He gets them a lot lately, and they’re embarrassing and honestly terrifying and he does not want Louis to see him like that.

“Harry?” Louis asks again, his voice quiet. When Harry turns to look at him, his blue eyes are filled to the brim with shock. Like he knows. 

“Wazzup, bebz?” a thickly-accented voice crows from the front of the store.

Harry and Louis spring apart, both of them realizing they’d been unconsciously leaning towards each other, and Harry is surprised at how far he has to spring back to be at what is considered an appropriate position for a platonic conversation.

“Zayn, my dearest friend, how are we on this lovely London morning?” Louis sings, his face filled with its normal cheer, as if the last five minutes hadn’t ever happened. Harry finds himself silently thanking his lucky stars for Louis. 

“Sleepy, decaffeinated, and my arse has all but frozen solid and fallen off,” Zayn complains, storming into the shop.

“Hey, that could work out well for us, maybe. If your arse did fall off. We could sell it on eBay to a couple of horny teenage girls.”

“Leave it to you, Louis, to use my frozen arse as a marketing technique.”

“You know someone would buy it!” Louis turns to Harry. “When Zayn and I were in Uni, I honestly think he’d picked up, like, twenty seven girls in one year. It was mad. People were all but flinging themselves at him, girls and boys alike,” Louis sniggered. Harry searched his face for any traces of uncertainty or falseness, but Louis was just genuinely being himself again, and Harry sighed in relief.

“Have you got a girlfriend, Zayn?” Harry asks, leaning forward. The loose white t-shirt he’s wearing gaps a bit in the front as he does. Louis stares at his collarbones, at how sunken and prominent they are.

“Er…not yet. Working on it,” Zayn admits, a bit sheepish as he perches himself on the counter.

“Zayn’s got a crush,” Louis says loudly.

“Really!” Harry mock-gasps. “Do tell.”

Zayn babbles on about some girl named Perrie who had purple hair and had lent him a cigarette once and they’d smoked and talked together for hours and hours at a bus stop somewhere in the heart of the city. Harry listens intently, feeling slightly jealous of Zayn, who seemingly had such a lovely and nice relationship with this girl, and how they told each other everything and took comfort in each other’s company. Because that’s what real love was.

Harry wonders if he and Nick are in love.

“Harry, what’s your boyfriend like, anyway?” Louis inquires. “You haven’t said a word on him. We don’t even know his name!”

“Oh,” is what Harry says.

Zayn and Louis wait.

Harry’s phone rings.

He picks it up in a heartbeat, more than relieved for the distraction. “Hello?”

“HAZZA!” An unmistakable Irish accent shrieks through the phone.

Harry laughs instantly. Because that’s what Niall does to you. “Niall! Hi! How’re you?”

Niall sighs dramatically. “Same old, same old. Uni is beatin’ the right shit out of me, mate.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry reminds him, smiling to himself. “Why’d you call? We only met up a few days ago.”

“Sick of me, are ya?” Niall snickers. “Kidding. Actually, Liam and I are thinking of coming up for Christmas. Maybe drive over, like, in three days, maybe? Stay in a hotel or something until Christmas and then head on back. Liam misses you. He’s such a nan. Always worrying about you and shit.”

Harry thinks of Liam and his huge, kind eyes and crinkly-eyed smiles and bear hugs and feels a burn of longing. “Really, Niall, you know you can come up whenever you can. And you know I want you to stay at mine, but…”

Niall and Liam know. They’ve known for a while, and they don’t talk about it, but Harry knows they do when he isn’t there.

“But,” Niall agrees with a sigh. “It’s fine. We’ll get a crappy motel room and watch footy matches on the telly in our boxers and socks until Christmas. It’s all planned out.” 

“Sounds great. I’ll see you in a few days, then.”

“Love you, Haz.”

When Harry hangs up, Zayn is screaming and Louis has jumped onto his back. “Give it back!” Louis yells, slapping Zayn’s flat arse repeatedly.

“Lads, what’s going on? Let’s be big boys here, we mustn’t fight,” Harry scolds gently, like a mocking mum. He feels like himself again, like how he used to be back home with his friends and family. He’d been so bouncy, just like Louis, and cheeky and sharp-witted and full of life. Nowadays he’s just…tired.

“Zayn took the cookie cutter!” Louis yelps.

“God, Louis, you’re so fat, now get off me before you crush me into the bloody ground,” Zayn snaps playfully.

Harry’s eyes widen in horror as Zayn throws the awful insult at Louis, but all Louis does is dig his teeth into Zayn’s arm, causing him to scream out in pain. He’s completely fine after being called fat, and Harry has never envied someone more in that moment.

Another day goes by of carelessness and pure joy. When he decides to leave a few hours earlier than yesterday, Louis pouts and pulls him into a hug.

And Harry can’t breathe because it feels so nice. So easy. His body slots perfectly against Louis, and Louis smells like frosting and strawberry ice cream and his tiny hands fist at the back of Harry’s shirt, trying to pull him in closer. Harry’s hands cover the entire width of Louis’s back where they are, and Louis is rubbing small circles against his spine.

“Come back tomorrow?” Louis murmurs.

Harry nods, because he can’t remember how to speak.

-

The bakery becomes a home to Harry.

Every day he goes without fail, stays the entire day, and comes home before Nick does so he can cook him dinner. He’s too busy texting Zayn, Louis, Liam, and Niall all evening to remember that he has to throw up. So he stops.

When Liam and Niall drive up, Harry takes them to the bakery, and the four boys click together like puzzle pieces. Harry can’t stop laughing the whole time he’s with them, watching them banter and fuck around with each other like they’d been together all their lives. Niall eats half the bakery down and Harry sits in Liam’s lap, their legs twisting together, and it’s so nice and lovely and natural. He watches Louis from where he’s sitting, watches him chase Niall around with his favorite broom in hand and argue about football teams with Liam, who’s a bit of a football enthusiast, as is Louis. Niall says Zayn is the prettiest boy he’s ever seen in his life besides Harry and Louis roars with laughter and they all fight over who’s prettier, Harry or Zayn. Harry blushes purple and fidgets in Liam’s lap when Louis votes for him with a huge smile.

When Harry steps out for a bit of fresh air later, he hears the bell of the door tinkle and footsteps shuffling towards him. “Hi, there,” he hears Louis say.

Harry smiles down at the small boy and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hello, Lou.”

“Your friends are really lovely,” Louis says, grinning. “I like them a lot. You have a good taste in people, Harry Styles.”

“Which is obviously why I’m here with you,” Harry smirks.

“I like your cheek. It’s sexy.” Louis giggles flirtatiously like a girl and Harry blows him a kiss, blushing at his actions, though Louis seems to find him hilarious.

“So…I was wondering.” Louis looks down at his black Converse-clad feet, right next to Harry’s nice leather boots on the ground. “Would you…um, would you like to maybe come over tomorrow? Like, in the evening? To my house? It’s really nothing fancy, but I was thinking we could watch dumb movies on Netflix and I could try to cook. Maybe. That is, if you like your food burnt and black.”

Harry smiles, and Louis instinctively goes to touch his dimple. “That sounds…really nice. Yeah. That’d be nice, Lou.”

“Yay!” Louis cheers, then fights to compose himself as Harry stifles his laughter. “Er, do you want me to pick you up?”

The thought of Louis, of all people, coming anywhere near his house, makes his face fall with anxiety.

Louis backtracks quickly. “Oh, no! I don’t mean it like that, like a date or anything, definitely not! I was just asking, since you seem to lack a mode of transportation and I didn’t want you walking all the way across town to my house…”

“Louis, breathe.”

Louis inhales and exhales exaggeratedly, like a cartoon character, and Harry laughs, long and loud. “It’s fine, Lou. I’ll get my…my…boyfriend to drop me off. Just text me the address, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” Louis squints at Harry for a bit, and Harry stares back evenly. “Why d’you get all sweaty and stutter-y whenever you talk about him, by the way? I was curious about that.”

Harry’s laugh gets stuck in his throat. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” Louis is suddenly serious, eyes wide and probing. “You do.”

Harry wracks his mind for an excuse and settles on whatever sounds even slightly believable. “See, we’ve only been dating for a while, and it’s still kind of weird to call him my boyfriend, y’know? It’s all official and permanent and…” Harry presses his lips together. “Kind of new, and all that.”

Louis lights up with understanding. “Oh, okay. Then that’s fine. I thought it was something much worse.”

But it is. “Nah.”

“Alrighty, then. Seven o’clock, my place? Bring your Pillow Pet.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Harry flushes red to the tips of his ears, regretting ever telling Louis about his most treasured possession, his unicorn Pillow Pet that Niall had bought for him for literally no reason at all. Niall had insisted on naming it Knickers whereas Harry was thinking Petunia or maybe Clover, but Knickers had stuck.

Louis touches Harry’s shoulder, soft and firm. “I think Knickers will be a lovely addition to our little get-together, no?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Harry shakes his head at the silly boy next to him. “Oh, and by the way? I’m cooking.”

-

The next day, Harry is home by five, buzzing with excitement thinking of meeting Louis in a few hours. He thinks he might just walk to Louis’s house, since it isn’t that big of a distance at all. He’s humming the tune to some lyrics by The Fray that Louis had been screaming all day (until Zayn had thrown a buttered bread roll at him and begged him to seriously shut the fuck up) as he opens the door. 

He busies himself with bustling around, tidying up the flat before Nick came home. He’d always been such a housewife like that, obsessed with cleanliness and order in his living space. Maybe that’s why Nick keeps me around, he thinks bitterly as he dusts off the coffee table, and is firmly shocked at himself for even thinking such things.

He loves you, you know, Harry tries to tell himself, but he can’t bring himself to be reassured by it. He sits on the couch, wallowed up in his thoughts for a while.

When Nick comes home, he’s got a box in his hands. Harry shoots to his feet and smiles automatically as Nick walks towards him.

“Hi,” he whispers with a smile.

Nick looks him over. “You look keyed up. Are you on something?”

“Me? No.” Harry frowns.

“You’re bouncing around like mad. Sit down, I’ve got you something.” Nick gestures to the sofa. Harry sits.  
Nick opens the box, and it’s a pizza, a huge one covered in meat and veggies and thick slabs of cheese and fat crusts.

“Spared you from making dinner tonight,” Nick explains with a smile. “Go on, eat up.”

Harry looks at the pizza. He can’t even think about how many calories and carbs and grams of fat are in the thing. It’s too much.

He can’t. He looks at Nick pleadingly.

“Come on, Haz, I’ll take half,” Nick says brightly. “That way you only have to eat four.”

Harry stares silently as Nick stacks slices of pizza onto a paper plate and thrusts it at Harry. Harry feels his heartbeat speed up as he looks at Nick. Nick is digging in, raising his eyebrows slowly at Harry.

“Eat,” he says, and his voice slips into a dangerous tone. “All of it. Now.”

Harry’s wrists shake as he gingerly holds a slice in his hand.

“So, tell me,” Nick says conversationally. “What’ve you been doing all these days, while I’ve been working? Made some friends, have you?”

Harry doesn’t make eye contact as his teeth scrape at the tip of the pizza slice. Salty heat leaks into his mouth and his throat closes up instantly in disgust.

“I saw you at that bakery yesterday,” Nick continues, not looking away from Harry. “And the day before. And, well, every single day since I specifically told you not to leave the house.”

You’ve been spying on me, Harry doesn’t say as he uses the pizza in front of him as a distraction. He sinks his teeth into the crust. His stomach gurgles eagerly and his brain shouts at him. Sweat forms on his forehead.

“I even saw you with your old friends, the blond Irish twink and the other one. You seemed to be having so much fun, with your little friends. I was so happy, Harry.”

Harry puts the slice down.

“Harry.” Nick’s voice is low. 

Harry starts to panic, biting a tentative slice off the tip. It’s warm and salty and heavy in his mouth. His throat burns as he forces it down. 

“I even saw you with that other guy, the little one with the silly hair and the big arse. What’s his name?”

Harry wants to cry because he refuses to mention anything about Louis in this house. Anyone but him.

“See, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t care about who you associate with, but…did I tell you to stop eating? I didn’t, did I? Eat,” Nick snaps. Harry quickly forces down another bite. “Anyway, but…I didn’t like him very much, you know why?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Because I am a very impatient man, Harry.” Nick hisses. “And there is nothing I hate more than people who look at what is mine.”

Harry’s heart flips over. He understands. He understands the pizza and being forced to eat it.

He’s being punished.

“And the only thing worse than that,” Nick murmurs. “Is when he looks back the same way.”

This isn’t happening.

“Eat every last damn bit of it, you hear? And don’t even think about throwing it up later. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

I’ll kill you.

I’ll kill you.

I’ll

Kill

You.

Harry trembles and shakes like an erupting volcano as he wolfs down the rest of the four slices, tears pooling up at his eyes and Nick watches over him, enjoying the show in front of him. Harry feels like a fool. He is a fool. He let this happen – disobeying Nick and getting close to Louis. That was wrong of him. And now, here he is, eating like a fucking pig in front of Nick. He can almost feel himself getting fat, the sickening sensation of mushy skin and flabby muscles piling on heavily. He starts hyperventilating as he gets through his last piece, burying his face in his hands, humiliated.

“Shame, really,” Nick coos. “And your diet was coming along so well, too.”

Harry sniffles like an idiot as his stomach turns heavily, trying to digest all the food. He feels sick. He wants to puke for real. 

“I’ll be in the shower,” Nick says, stretching as he rises to his feet. “Join me in a few minutes.”

By the time Nick has left the room, Harry is running for his fucking life.

All he thinks of is his destination as his feet pound down the darkening streets. Nothing else. Not the sickening sloshing inside of him, not Nick, waiting for him in the bathroom, not the hot tears streaking down his face rapidly. All he thinks of is where he has to go.

Once he’s there, he slams his fist against the door like he’s punching it, hearing a few weak pops in his knuckles as he does so, but he really couldn’t care less. He feels like he’s on fire from both the inside and out, and he needs to do something. 

When the door swings open, Louis is standing there wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans, slung low on his hips. Harry stares fiercely at him for a while, his mind racing too fast to think of what to do or say. Louis’s eyes open wide as he looks at Harry in front of him, shaking madly with his hair dark with sweat and his eyes flushed red with tears and his arms wrapped around his torso, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Harry?” Louis squeaks, slowly reaching out for him.

Harry’s mind snaps back into focus, and he rips into Louis’s flat, searching frantically until he sees the bathroom. He barely has time to think about what he’s doing before he throws the door open, crouches in front of the toilet, and starts quickly scratching at the back of his throat.

It all comes up, every last bit of it, in a rushing stream of vomit that pours out of his mouth. He gags for a while, watching it all go, and yet feeling sicker with every passing moment. When he starts to see blood, he tries to stop, but he can’t. He can still feel all of it settled in the base of his stomach, poisoning his body. He stays there until all he’s coughing up is blood and bile, and then flushes.

He sits still, unmoving, frozen in place as he stares blankly at nothing. He feels dead, like the cord connecting him to the world has been cut. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels someone touching him, soft hands wiping at his face with something, maybe a cloth, and running it through his hair. He feels his shirt being tugged off and cool water against his heated skin and soaking his scalp.

“Louis,” he whispers.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here.” More soft hands. Kneading into the muscles of his back, gentle and soothing.

“Louis, I’m sorry,” Harry croaks.

“I said it was okay, didn’t I? Don’t worry. Here, get up.” He feels a hand tug him to his feet, and his head spins with vertigo. His vision goes black for a moment, and slowly fades back. He feels like a zombie.

“You want to brush your teeth, or something? I think I’ve got a spare brush.” 

Harry nods weakly, leaning against the wall for support.

Louis cleans him up, helping him brush his teeth thoroughly and wash his face with soap. He tosses Harry’s sweat-stained shirt into the hamper and guides him out of the bathroom, slow and cautious. The whole time, he doesn’t say anything, and Harry is grateful. But this was Louis, so the question session was sure to come in time. “Feel better?” Louis asks, voice soft with concern.

Harry looks at him, this little boy with the most gorgeous skin and a tight body and eyes blue enough to make Harry dizzy. This perfect, beautiful boy, who’d just seen Harry puke himself hoarse in his bathroom, Harry at his most vulnerable and exposed. Blood rushes to Harry’s face. He’d never felt more ashamed in his life. He starts to sniffle.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis sighs as he pulls Harry in for a hug. Harry cries quietly into the bare skin of Louis’s shoulder, eyes squeezed tight as Louis kneads Harry’s spine with his fingers. “It’s fine, okay? Don’t be scared, please don’t cry.”

“I’m s…sorry,” Harry mumbles, squeezing Louis as tight as he can.

“Don’t be, alright? You’re fine.” Louis groans slightly. “Um…ow. Harry. You’re choking me.”

“Oh.” Harry pulls back, blinking away his tears.

Louis smiles. “You sit down right over there, and I’ll go get us some juice boxes or something, yeah? I won’t be a minute. Go on.” He flutters into the kitchen like a little fairy, footsteps light on the ground, and Harry pads over to the sofa. He feels cold and naked without a shirt on, since his belly and torso have always been his least favorite part of himself, and being in Louis’s house only made it worse. He curls up in a tight ball, covering himself, and closes his eyes.

-

“You know something, Harry?”

“Hmm?”

Louis doesn’t look away from the flickering images on the telly in front of them as he snuggles closer into Harry’s side. His back is flush against Harry’s chest, warm and soft, like a pillow. Harry hesitates before leaning forward to rest his chin on Louis’s head, nestled in his hair, which feels like cotton candy. Louis hums in appreciation before he says, “I know what it feels like, y’know. To hate yourself enough to…well, throw up and all that.”

Harry’s in shock. “What?”

Louis sighs. “Well, this is embarrassing. But I may as well tell you. See, when I was a little younger than you, I was fat.” He clears his throat slightly. “Everyone told me I was, even my own mum, and all my friends were skinny and perfect and strong with muscles and all. And I was short and fat and ugly and I really hated myself, I did.”

“Oh, Louis,” Harry whispers. “S’not true.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know any better back then. And I was young and stupid and lonely. Hell, even my first boyfriend…he…” Louis laughs nervously. The sound is unfamiliar – because Louis and nervousness don’t go together at all. “He always said he loved how soft I was, and…God, when he introduced me to his friends, he’d say something bloody ridiculous like, ‘This is Louis, my favorite little pillow!’ and, well. It hurt. No one said anything nice about me, and I wanted to change that.”

Harry is silent. He gets it.

“So I made myself lose weight on purpose. I was bulimic, Harry, Jesus Christ.” Louis laughs again, bitter. “I would eat like a fucking pig and then run to the loo and throw up until there was nothing left. I felt sick all the time and dizzy and weak and…”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “Yeah, I know.”

Louis looks at him then, sharply. “Listen to me, Harry. Please don’t do it. Don’t starve yourself and then…just, just don’t do it. You don’t deserve that. I had to go through that for two years before I got help, and it is the worst fucking thing a person can ever go through. Don’t do it, alright?”

Harry should probably tell him why he does it. He doesn’t.

“I don’t quite get it, Harry.” Louis turns around so he’s directly facing Harry, and Harry can see every bit of Louis’s face, every small freckle and bit of him that made him perfect. He can’t imagine Louis hating himself for being ugly. Louis is the most beautiful person Harry has ever seen. Louis is the sun. “Why…why do you do it? You’re skin and bones, Harry, look at you!” Louis gently touches Harry’s stomach, which Harry can see is still fat and droopy is always. Harry cringes. “I can feel your bloody ribs, Harry. I can see all of them right under your skin. You’re…God.” Louis draws a shaky breath through his teeth. “Please tell me.” And there it is again, that soft voice that Harry would jump off a cliff for if it told him to.

“M’not skin and bones, Lou,” Harry manages to cough out. “I’ve…I’ve got chubby bits, all over me. S-see?” Harry points to his stomach with a wobbly finger.

Louis looks at Harry as if he’s gone mad for a full minute. Harry starts to shift uncomfortably in his seat.  
Then Louis whispers, “That…that boyfriend of yours. Hasn’t he noticed? At all?”

Not again. Harry closes his eyes.

“Don’t you do that again, Harry. Don’t close your bloody eyes and shake your head all fast and look like you’re going to have a breakdown. Answer me, please.” Louis’s voice is pleading. He’s begging.

“Not now, Louis.” Harry’s voice whips out in a low hiss, like a snake. Louis’s eyes widen. “Just...not now. Not here.”

“Not now,” Louis repeats, nodding his head. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Not now, not here, not ever, right?”

Harry flinches from the malice in Louis’s words. “I’ve got to go,” he says.

“Okay,” Louis whispers. Neither of them moves.

“Bye, Louis,” Harry says.

“Bye, Harry,” Louis replies, holding his gaze evenly.

They stare at each other for what seems like an eon. Electricity, it seems like, crackles in the warm heat of the air between them.

“I.” Harry coughs. He forces himself to stagger to his feet as he starts to stumble towards the door. “I...um...”

And then Louis is there, right in front of him, blocking his path, and Louis has the fiercest look of determination in his eyes, and Louis is grabbing onto Harry’s shoulders like his life depends on it, and Louis is leaning forward and touching his mouth to Harry’s. Soft. Cautious.

Harry can’t stop a moan of relief from ripping from his throat as he throws his arms around Louis, pressing into him as much as he can, kissing back feverously. They stand there for a while. Wrapped up in each other, a tangle of arms and limbs, lips sliding against each others. Silent and soft. Not a sound from either of them, except the occasional quiet hum of content. 

When Louis pulls back, his eyes are bright, like the sun reflecting against the surface of water. His hair is rumpled and lopsided from where Harry had run his fingers through it, and neither of them can breathe, really.

“Thank you,” Harry decides to say.

“You would thank me for giving you a kiss, you twat.” Louis rolls his eyes, and then grins. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes.

Harry’s face is pink with joy the whole walk home.

-

When he comes home, he takes whatever Nick gives him without saying a word, and it’s bad. It’s really bad this time, because he left in the evening without saying anything or asking permission, and it hurts. Harry doesn’t cry or plead or tell Nick he loves him. Instead, he thinks of blue eyes and sunshine and tiny fingers pulling through his curls and soft lips against his. He falls asleep thinking of them, too.

-

Louis gasps. Zayn stares.

“Don’t,” Harry says as he walks in, closing the door behind him, being swallowed up in the heat and sighing as his iced muscles thaw out.

“Harry,” Louis whispers.

“It’s okay, I promise.” Harry smiles at Louis, who is wearing a red Man Utd jersey, dark blue jeans, Converse sneakers, and a horrified expression.

“Harry, you look like you got in a fight with a mob of gangsters,” Zayn says, his mouth in the shape of an O.

“Not really.” Harry rubs at his nose self-consciously.

“Your eye is purple.”

“S’not a big deal, I swear.” Harry flushes under their gazes. “Stop looking at me,” he mutters.

Zayn pointedly looks at his feet, but Louis isn’t so easily convinced. “Who did it?” He spits.

“No one did anything. I tripped and hit a wall, really.” Harry is not a good liar.

“Yeah, and Louis wanks to lesbian porn.”

“Zayn,” Louis says.

“Yes?”

“Can we not talk about it?” Harry asks. “I hit a wall.”

“There’s fingerprint marks on your neck.”

“Should we do something...?” Zayn’s eyes zip to the phone on the counter.

“No!” Harry insists. “Really, just...let’s let it go, yeah? I don’t want to talk about it.”

Louis is quiet for about half a second before he says, “Come with me, Curly. We’re going to get you something for that eye.”

Curly. Harry’s heart flip flops at the nickname. “Where?” he asks.

Louis takes his arm in a firm grip, and Harry tries not to feel turned on by how dominant and serious Louis is behaving. “Convenience store down the street. Let’s get you some painkillers or something. Don’t even try to complain. Alright?”

“Alright,” Harry says.

“I’ll just stay here, I guess,” Zayn starts to say, but they’re already gone.

-

It feels weird, feeling Louis lace his fingers through Harry’s own cold ones, while they’re out in public. Harry’s eyes are constantly darting around, checking to make sure no one sees (no one meaning one person in particular), and Louis laughs at him.

“Someday, I’m going to sit you down and make you explain everything,” Louis says. The convenience store is small and the heat is on full blast. Harry’s sweating. “Every last thing.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“Is this...okay?” Louis squeezes Harry’s hand softly in emphasis. “I mean...he...your-”

“Yeah, Lou.” Harry smiles, and Louis returns it. “It’s okay.”

“Good,” Louis whispers.

They walk around the little store, Louis picking up whatever he likes and throwing it in the little basket Harry’s holding and babbling nonstop about whatever he sees. “My mum gave me too many of these pills one time, and I fell asleep in the middle of my exam, y’know?” “What the bloody hell is ‘green raspberry’ flavored? Is that even real?” “This CD is absolutely horrible, promise me you’ll never listen to it. Your ears will fall off.” “Oh my God, Batman band-aids!” Their fingers stay locked together.

“Louis,” Harry says in between laughs. Louis makes him laugh until his face hurts, even in a convenience store. 

“Hold on, I want a gumball. Let me go ask the cashier for some change. Wait here!” Louis sings, leaving Harry’s hand. Harry smiles stupidly to himself, staring at the floor.

There’s a hand on his arm.

“Hello, Harry,” a slick, oily voice that makes the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand.

Please, no. Please, please, please.

The hand snakes down Harry’s back to settle against his bum. “What’re we doing out here, hm? And who’s that little boy you were with?”

We were holding hands. We were holding hands and he saw it.

Everything’s over.

“Why’d you leave me again, Harry? I was looking forward to spending time with you.” 

Harry prays to whatever God is out there, hoping that one of them hears.

Nick spins Harry around, digging his fingers into his pale forearms, definitely leaving marks. “I’m tired of this, you know. Constantly running after you.”

Nick grabs tighter. Harry squeaks in pain. 

“And you were holding hands, too. How sweet. Is he your boyfriend, then?” Nick’s jaw is taut and his eyes are fiery and Harry is dead.

“Does he know about us?” Nick murmurs into Harry’s ear. Harry’s trembling like a puppy left out in the rain all night. “Does he know how I feel about you? Does he know how good you are for me, every night, while I fuck you into the mattress? Why don’t you tell him?”

“Er, excuse me?”

Nick looks over Harry’s shoulder in amusement. Harry grits his teeth and wishes he would die. Go the fuck away, Louis, turn around and go away and please just don’t do anything.

“Ah, Harry! This is the one I’ve been dying to meet.” Nick sets Harry back down and releases his grip on his arms. Harry is struggling to breathe. In, out. C’mon, gently now. Don’t want Louis to think you’re a loony.

Louis has the most adorable look of confusion written all over his face, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline and his mouth slack. His eyes dart back and forth between Nick and Harry, taking in Nick’s delighted face and the tears in Harry’s eyes. He doesn’t quite say anything.

“My name’s Nick. Proud boyfriend of our little Harry, here.” Nick extends a hand out to Louis that Louis looks at doubtfully before shaking it, cautious in his movements. Nick’s other hand is on Harry’s shoulder, near his neck.

“Louis,” Louis says as introduction. He smiles a bit. “Nice to meet you.”

Louis is being kind to Nick. Harry can’t take it.

“So what’s the deal with you two, huh?” Nick smiles right back at Louis, too big and too cunning. “Obviously you were both holding hands because of the cold, right? Sharing body heat and all that?”

Louis looks at Harry. Harry shakes his head, a quick movement, before Nick’s hand clamps onto his neck to stop him and Harry hisses in pain.

Then Louis’s entire fucking face falls. And Harry can tell that he knows.

“Oh,” he whispers.

Harry wishes he’d leave.

“Take your hands off him,” Louis says instead.

Harry is dead.

“Sorry?” Nick tilts his head to the side and smiles. “What was that?”

“I said, take your fucking hands off of him.” Louis is as threatening as a sleeping newborn baby. 

Nick laughs. “Oh? And what if I don’t, what’ll you do then?”

Louis takes a step forward. Louis puts one hand on Harry’s waist. Harry stares at him, eyes wide. “I will go to the police,” Louis seethes, right in Nick’s face. “And I will tell them that you’ve been abusing your boyfriend. And you’ve let him starve himself. And you will go to court and no one will pay bail and I bet you can’t even afford a bloody lawyer and then you’ll be behind bars. I promise you.”

Nick doesn’t say anything. He and Louis stare each other down.

Minutes pass.

Nick plants his foot against Harry’s stomach and kicks him so hard he slams back against the wall.

His head smashes against the cement. Black spots fade into his vision. His eyes wheel wildly, unfocused and blurred. Another crack of pain against his face. He falls.

Someone’s screaming his name, and there’s commotion and noise and everything’s moving too fast and there’s lots of crashes and yelling and Harry’s just swallowed up in it, feeling like he’s covered in blood.

And before he knows it, he’s being hauled to his feet and someone’s shaking him and there’s more screaming and he hears a voice in his ear, “I never want to fucking see you again, you disgusting little prick.”

I can’t breathe, Harry doesn’t say.

“Get the fuck out of my house as soon as you fucking can before I pick you up and throw you out-”

The crushing grip Nick has on him disappears, and Harry finds himself screaming.

Louis, he screams.

“Harry, Harry, it’s okay, Harry, I’m here,” a voice soft as butter is crooning to him, and Harry is sobbing and shaking and convulsing and he’s actually going to puke.

“He’s gone, okay? He’s gone, he left, he’s never coming back.” The voice is like an angel whispering to him, saying the words he never knew he needed to hear until now.

“What the hell happened here?!” A new voice. Maybe the shopkeeper. Excellent timing, that.

“Sorry, sir, just a bit of a scuffle,” Louis apologizes over his shoulder. He’s still holding Harry. “I’ll get it cleaned up as soon as I c-”

“Where is he?” Harry’s voice is high pitched and hysterical. “Where’d he go? Is he gone?”

“He’s gone, Harry. Why?” Louis sounds confused. Harry can’t see him. His eyes are closed tight. “Do you...do you want him to come back?”

“No, please,” Harry squeaks. “Did he h-h-hurt you? Did he?”

“Not a single scratch on me, promise. I’m fit as a fiddle. C’mon, get up, you.” Louis tugs at Harry’s arms.

“You gonna clean this up or what?” The shopkeeper demands.

“Yes, yes, I just should probably take him h-”

“Don’t leave me!” Harry’s eyes fly open and his fists shoot out to clutch at Louis’s shirt, his voice rising. Louis is all he sees, bright blue eyes and red cheeks and mussed hair. “Please, please, please don’t leave me, Louis...” He’s never sounded so desperate. He’s scared of himself.

“I’m not leaving you for a single second.” Louis’s smile is so kind. 

Harry weakly raises a pinkie finger into the air. Louis chuckles as he wraps his own pinkie around Harry’s, then leans down to brush his lips against the tip of Harry’s nose. Harry’s eyes flutter shut like butterfly wings.

“You’re safe,” Louis tells him.

Harry breathes in the vanilla scent of Louis’s skin and hums. All these months, that’s really all he’s ever needed to hear.

-

A week later

“Don’t fidget,” Harry orders, pushing another tiny white button through its significant hole.

Louis squirms, trying his best to keep still while Harry does up his shirt. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs!” he whines. “And we’re still here in my bedroom getting all dolled up, like little girls.”

“You’re getting all dolled up,” Harry corrects, smiling. Louis pokes his dimple. Harry grunts as a sign of warning, and Louis’s hands go back to his side again so he can resume his stiff posture. “It’s your own Christmas party, remember.”

“I’ll bet Zayn showed up in sweats and socks with crumbs in his hair,” Louis snips unhappily. “And here I am in this shirt and tie with my hair combed, looking all silly.”

“I think you look lovely.” Harry does the final button and steps back to survey the view. Louis is dashing in his black button-down shirt and white tie, along with black skinny jeans and red TOMS that he refused to take off. For some reason, the color of the shirt emphasizes the dark shadow of Louis’s jaw line, and Harry reddens slightly at how hot it makes him feel. 

“Hey, now, why are we blushing?” Louis asks, crossing his arms and wiggling his eyebrows. Harry shuffles his feet and rubs his nose. “Tell me, pleeease?”

“You look sexy, is all,” Harry blurts. He bites down on his tongue, hard.

Louis’s mouth falls open. Harry is positively purple now. “I look sexy? Me?” Louis says incredulously. “Look at you!”

“I’m wearing a navy jumper and jeans.” Harry wiggles his toes, which are bare, and tries not to melt under Louis’s probing gaze.

“You’re the definition of sex god, Harry Styles.”

“I think we’re about done here.” Harry stumbles slightly on his way to the door.

“Just look at you,” Louis goes on, at Harry’s heels. “Your hair’s all curly and nice, and your eyes are so pretty, and I’m not even going to talk about how nice your arse looks in those jeans...”

“Let’s stop, shall we?” Harry ducks his head in shame.

“And God, those thighs of yours, I just want to bite them all over...and your neck veins, and your jaw, ooh!” Louis sighs dramatically as Harry starts down the stairs. “I just want to mark up your pretty white skin with my teeth, and...”

“You’re not being seductive, Louis.”

“Well, that clearly isn’t your phone in your pants, is it?”

“Lou!” Harry wails.

“Lads!” An Irish voice shrieks up at them.

Louis receives plenty of whistles and catcalls for his suit and tie, and he blushes the color of cherry blossoms and Harry can’t stop smiling. All the lads are here, and Zayn’s brought a girl with purple hair who doesn’t leave his side all night, and Harry knows that it can’t be anyone but Perrie. His hand stays in Louis’s all night, and that gets even more cheeky whistles and winks, but Harry doesn’t let go, not for one moment. Zayn hoots in amusement when Louis leans in to press a sneaky kiss to Harry’s jaw when he thought no one was looking, and Harry hides his face in Louis’s shoulder while Louis laughs loudly, the musical laugh that went straight to Harry’s heart.

Everyone exchanges gifts, and Harry had bought Louis a necklace, a lovely little thing he’d found in the window of a jewelry shop. It’s a little sun, carved from wood, and Harry knew it was for Louis, since Louis is the sun. Louis hasn’t taken it off and he isn’t planning on it, obviously. Harry gets a brand new Manchester United jersey from Louis, and when he lets out a soft giggle of surprise, Louis looks at him with hearts in his eyes.

Later in the night, when everyone’s celebrating inside, Harry and Louis head onto the tiny balcony outside of Louis’s flat, closing the door behind them. London is dusted with snow, and the roads are quiet, a rare thing to see. Only on Christmas do miracles like that happen. 

Harry sighs and looks up at the moon. It’s in the shape of a crescent. 

“Hi,” Louis says, voice soft.

Harry looks down at him, this glorious, beautiful boy he’s somehow found, and grins. “Hi,” he says back.

“You alright?” Louis is quick to check, at random intervals of the day, that Harry’s okay. Harry appreciates it so much, he can’t even say it. 

“Of course.” Harry hesitates a moment before bending down to press a kiss to Louis’s cheek. He sighs as he pulls back. “Just...I guess I miss my family, s’all.”

“Hm,” Louis hums. “You should go visit them, you know. Because you can.”

“They...” Harry clears his throat. “I left them. Without any warning. I left with...with...”

Louis nods, his eyes signaling that he knows. Harry gives him a grateful look, then continues. “Thought I was in love. With...him. And I thought he’d take care of me, and love me back, and we’d grow up and raise a family together and buy a house and.” Harry laughs. “And I guess it all went to shit, didn’t it?”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Louis snarls. Harry’s surprised at the pure fury in Louis’s voice. “Not one bit of it. You didn’t deserve it, you...I wish I could find him and beat the absolute brains out of him. I bet I could take him, too. What a pussy.”

Harry agrees. They’re quiet for a second. Snow starts to fall, soft and gentle, like a kiss.

“Let’s go,” Louis says suddenly. 

“Huh?”

“I’ll take you, to them. Your family. We could drive up tomorrow.” Louis is suddenly bright with excitement. “We’ll go to Cheshire and meet up with them and I could meet your mum and you can be happy, Harry.”

Harry’s heart is racing, too fast. “Could...could we really?”

“We will.” Louis is dead serious as he flicks his hand through his fringe in determination, eyes locked with Harry’s.

Harry looks at him again. He doesn’t know when he got so lucky. He thinks maybe someone’s watching over him, someone who might’ve deemed him worthy enough to find Louis. Someday, he’ll tell Louis everything. He’ll sit him down and talk to him about Nick, every last thing that he felt about him, and Louis will listen. He’ll talk about Liam and Niall and his family and his school back in Cheshire, and Louis will listen. He’ll tell Louis about how much he likes snow, how he’s a romantic, how he likes sappy movies and cuddling on Saturday nights, and Louis will listen. Louis will listen to everything, and he knows they’ve got ages and ages for all the things Harry has to say.

Harry’s hands instantly find Louis’s waist and settle there, and Louis grins so wide crinkles form near his eyes. “You going to kiss me, or what?” he asks, wiggling his bum playfully.

And Harry swoops in and connects his lips to Louis’s, and the snow is swirling around them quietly, wrapping them in their own little perfect corner of the world, and they can hear the laughter of their friends in the house behind them, and they’re giddy and silly and shaking with joy and Harry realizes that this is it.

This is what real happiness felt like.

It felt like Louis.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: gumdroplou


End file.
